Page 122 of Elf-ish

He felt something, right? Something more. Last night certainly felt extra.

As I sit on Gran’s worn couch, I hear the rumble of feet racing down the stairs from Christmas’s apartment above. Gran and Gertie stumble from the kitchen, each holding a cup of ambition as they’ll need it to get through the chaos of the next few hours.

Dane will be here later with his girls.

Beau and Belle are off on their honeymoon.

And while I’m not alone, loneliness blankets me.

I wish Jude was here.

+ + +

The next few hours pass in the chaos only Christmas brings.

Squeals of delight. Pressure to immediately put items together. “Do you have batteries?” is said three times because someone forgot to purchase them. The pile of wrapping paper grows like a building blizzard.

Once the kids are content, Gran and I head to the kitchen, where I start making breakfast. Every movement is labored. Every motion rote.

Pancake making. Bacon sizzling. Coffee brewing.

“What’s wrong with you?” Christmas asks, finally entering the epicenter of Gran’s home.

“Nothing,” I lie.

“Santa doesn’t come to those who tell a lie,” my sister teases.

“Santa already came,” I mutter, and the one thing I wanted didn’t arrive.

“What’s Jude doing today?” she asks, reaching for the coffee pot and pouring herself another mug.

“He doesn’t celebrate.” I sigh, whisking the ingredients for pancake batter faster.

“What do you mean he doesn’t celebrate?” Gran asks, from somewhere behind me.

I glance over my shoulder to see Gran and Gertie sitting at the kitchen table, which already holds a stack of plates and silverware for dinner later today. A roast will go in the oven soon. Mashed potatoes were previously made, frozen, and were now defrosting on the countertop. The green bean casserole needs to be made. Rolls, too. Salad.

“Angelica,” Christmas says, pulling me from the ever-present list of things to do. “What do you mean Jude doesn’t celebrate?”

She eyes me suspiciously.

“He just doesn’t believe in the day, I guess. Retail is a hard industry, and the season sucks the energy out of him.” I shrug, although I don’t firmly know Jude’s reason for not participating in this holiday.

Her brows furrow.

“That’s nonsense,” Gertie says from her seat at the round table. “There’s always a reason to celebrate a day, Christmas or otherwise.”

“Well, I guess, he goes with otherwise and not Christmas.” I don’t know why I’m suddenly defensive. He has a right to peace and quiet and to be alone.

Suddenly, it hits me.

Jude will be alone. All alone. What will he do today? How will he pass the time?

I spin to face Gran. “He’s going to be alone,” I whisper.

Gran sits straighter, reading something in my face. “Invite him to come here.”

“I did,” I admit, my throat clogging with the reminder he didn’t accept the invitation.